Neverland
by Soleil2
Summary: Fixing the characters after the season finale. Letting them grow up and let go... complete.
1. Shadows

Title: Neverland  
  
Author: Soleil  
  
Disclaimer: My birthday is in a few months. If you all save up, maybe you could buy them for me? Just checking...  
  
Summary: Fixing parts of the season finale...  
  
AN: This deals with other parts left open by the finale. I think the ptb have dealt our heroes some serious blows. I'm trying to fix them without committing them to an institution. I'm not really going to deal with Mac's health issues though. There are other writers who are doing a far better job of that than I could. (One can never overestimate how many lives I saved by not going to medical school.)  
  
This first part is... different. You've been warned.  
  
Prologue: Shadows  
  
A dragonfly bounced softly against the peach walls, searching for a place to land. Its thin wings, webbed with tiny veins, cast pale shadows on the walls and furniture as it danced around the room.  
  
Outside, a thin mist fell on the streets. A car door slammed shut and the hurried click of heels on the sidewalk echoed between the buildings. Another car drove by, tires splashing in a puddle. And then it was quiet again.  
  
The dragonfly drifted away from the kitchen as the light flicked off. It floated to the ceiling, landing in a shadow created by a lamp. Its wings pulsed once, then twice before resting against the plaster ceiling.  
  
Another light snapped off, leaving the apartment dark except for the dragonfly's corner and an island of light around the couch. Sound rushed into the room, filling it was a discordant symphony of noise. Blue shadows flickered on the walls and ceiling. The dragonfly's wings beat once again, creating small ripples of air in his corner of the room. They stilled slowly as he realized that, although the shadows changed constantly, creating new patterns of light and dark, they did not move closer. Content in his corner, the dragonfly rested.  
  
A raspy wisp of noise, a slight sound that rose above the others, spread throughout the apartment. The sniffling started gradually, once in a while, and barely loud enough to move beyond the couch. It grew in frequency until the room was punctuated by the sounds. A spring on the couch creaked and the noise that had filled the apartment stopped. The blue shadows disappeared.  
  
Cloth whispered over cloth and a blanket settled on the back of the couch. Ice clinked against the walls of a glass. The kitchen door swished shut and whisked open again. Another light turned off and the darkness crept a little closer to the dragonfly. A hall light turned on, then the light below the dragonfly disappeared.  
  
The dragonfly waited until the footsteps stopped. It waited until the water started. Then, abandoning its position, it flew to the hall light. Settling on the wall, it nestled into a space at the juncture of the ceiling and the wall.  
  
The water stopped. The bathroom door opened again and the light shut off. Alone, in the dark apartment, the dragonfly studied the bedroom door. A thin band of light circled it, easing between the cracks. The dragonfly studied it, but couldn't figure out to get to it. He flew along the seam of the door, but there were no openings big enough to fit through. Alone, in the dark, the dragonfly beat against the wall, wondering what it was supposed to do now, now that the last of the light was almost gone. 


	2. The Last of the Lost Boys

A puddle of light spilled on to the desk and dripped on the floor. It formed rivulets around the chair and seeped on to the papers stacked by the desk's side. The light soaked the transcripts he was supposed to be reviewing, but wasn't. Instead of providing the shadow of doubt, the lines of the words and numbers only alleviated the expanse of white paper.  
  
A weak light from the refrigerator flooded the kitchen briefly, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he studied the door to his apartment. Condensation beaded on his beer bottle, forming droplets on his fingers and dampening the label, as he surveyed the loft. The kitchen counters reflected the street light, making the room appear brighter. The counters were neat, the way he liked them. Papers and textbooks, assigned novels or unassigned books, no longer cluttered their surfaces. He'd found the last stray ponytail holder the other day and now it was tucked safely in a drawer. He was weeding out the junk food that had sneaked its way into the cabinets slowly.  
  
His desk sat in the corner of the room, light and cluttered. A contrast to the rest of the apartment. His need for the transcripts wasn't pressing enough, the material not interesting enough, to hold his attention. To distract him from the quiet pressing in on the room. So, the brief for his motion sat half-typed, the depositions remained half-read, and the radio played softly in the background.  
  
He felt like he was chasing water, running after thoughts and emotions that had indistinct forms and scattered quicker than he could think or feel them. They flowed in different directions, leaving him stranded in their wake.  
  
Easing his hip onto a stool, he sighed into the dark. He had learned this: life plotted its course like a meandering river. Sediment and erosion altered its path slowly until one day, when he looked back, its shape was so different from when it had started. People washed away, places were left behind. He had learned at an early age that people don't stay. They were swept away by the tides, carried elsewhere until they were only a memory and no amount of searching could bring them back.  
  
He raised the bottle to his lips and grimaced at the cold glass and the thought of drinking alone in the dark. He sighed again and poured the beer down the drain.  
  
Chair wheels squeaked as he straightened his desk. With a click, the radio stopped. Another twist and the lamplight disappeared. The mostly dark room let light from the hallway seep beneath the door. It outlined it with fine lines and delicate filaments. The quiet settled like a thick blanket over the room. Noises, big and small, seemed to amplify in the dark, until the ticking of a clock filled the space and the refrigerator's hum roared like a jet's engine. He didn't realize how quiet it would be. How empty the light beneath his door would look without giggling shadows to interrupt its smooth flow. 


	3. The Crocodile's Clock

His hand hovered above the doorframe, fist suspended inches above the wood. Mac stood by her window. The sunlight dripped through the blinds and slipped softly to the floor. It pooled on the tiles and flooded the room. Her fingers brushed over the slats of the blinds, running back and forth over the thin strips of wood, creating ripples of shadows in the sunlight.  
  
Harm knocked lightly, stepping into her office. "Hey," he said. "Working hard?"  
  
"More like hardly working." She glanced over her shoulder. "Hi." Nodding at the places beyond the window, she said, "It's a gorgeous day, isn't it?"  
  
He skirted the edge of her desk to stand behind her. "I don't really get to see it in my corner of the world." He lifted a slat. "It's a shame we're stuck in here."  
  
Her lips quirked upwards slightly. "Sometimes I forget you're stuck in that horrible little office." She could feel his presence between her shoulder blades, it whispered down her spine and settled at the small of her back, and she cured the problem of his proximity by easing away from him. Her shoes glided along the tiles as she shifted to give him better access to the window. "I heard we might get thunderstorms tonight."  
  
"Mm," he hummed a non-committal answer.  
  
She let her hand fall from the window and angled her head to watch him. "So what brings you down here?" She slid into her chair and folded her hands over her stomach. They didn't have any cases together, either as co-counsel or opposition. She suspected that the admiral may have talked privately with his successor before leaving.  
  
He leaned against the wall and the window and rested an elbow on her filing cabinet. Through the glass, he could feel the heat from the summer's sun. He shrugged, sliding his shoulder along the glass surface. "I was in the neighborhood?" he suggested.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh," she said. She reached for a pen on her desk and twirled it around her fingers. "I'm fine," she told the pen. "I mostly stayed in bed all weekend."  
  
He crossed his arms over his chest. "It was probably the best thing for you."  
  
She shook her head a little and hitched a shoulder. "Maybe," she said, rubbing a hand over her forehead. She hadn't been resting nearly as much as she had been tucking herself away from the rest of the world. In her apartment, the air was still and quiet. Outside, cars honked and people shouted. The crowds ebbed and flowed, waxing and waning with the pull of the moon. But inside, the noises were muted through the closed windows, the movements were less frenetic. "It's been a rough month."  
  
He sat down heavily in a chair. Steepling his fingers, he tilted his head back and exhaled loudly. "Tell me about it." He hooked an ankle over his knee.  
  
"Oh," she said quietly, "I think you know the highlights." Her gaze focused on the calendar she used as a blotter. Her pen traced figure eights around a date, weaving between the two numbers in tight circles. "How's everything with you?"  
  
Studying the ceiling tiles, he released a deep breath and said, "I think Mattie's going to move back with her dad."  
  
Her pen stopped in its path. "What? When did this happen?" She stood up and moved around her desk. "Harm?"  
  
"They started talking again a few weeks ago." He looked over at her when she laid a hand on his elbow. "She spent the weekend with him."  
  
Her thumb brushed his forearm, sweeping back and forth over this skin. "I'm sorry," she said.  
  
He slid his elbow back along the arm of the chair until her hand slipped into his. "Like you said, it's been a rough few weeks." His fingers squeezed around hers, then let go and her hand dropped into her lap. He scraped his palm roughly over his face. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"  
  
She stared at her hands, weaving her fingers tightly together. "We're something alright."  
  
A strand of hair slipped out of her bun and he reached over to tuck it back into place. She glanced up at him and gave him a small smile of thanks.  
  
"You up for dinner tonight?" He let his fingers linger by the shell of her ear, grateful that he'd remembered to shut the door. Grateful that she'd developed a preference for closed blinds. "Or is that a stupid question?"  
  
She snorted softly. "I think I might just go home, actually." Her hand cuffed his wrist lightly, and she paused as she wished that she could keep it there, keep him there for a little while longer. She eased it away from cheek and said, "You should spend time with Mattie."  
  
"The two things aren't mutually exclusive, you know," he pointed out.  
  
"If you're sure," she began, then paused, biting her lip. Her stomach rumbled and she pressed a hand to it, starting to laugh a little at its timing. But the sound caught on her teeth and only slipped past her lips as her thumb brushed against the place where her incision had healed and she glanced at the floor tiles that separated them. She rubbed her stomach absently. Sighing, she let her gaze wander around the office until it rested on the spot where the silly little gifts from Clay once sat. She'd thrown them out, resisting the urge to throw them across the office, when she'd learned that they'd come from his secretary. She shook her head to stop herself from staring at the empty spaces. "No, I'd better not. I'm really tired. Maybe another night?" She tried to bow her mouth into a smile.  
  
"You need to eat," he reminded her, but he could see she'd already made up her mind. He thought about his apartment and swallowed the sigh that wanted to escape.  
  
"I'll just pick something up on my way home." She stood up, plucking at her skirt until the material slid into place. "But thanks for the offer."  
  
He pushed his body out of the chair and walked slowly to the door. "Mac?" he called softly.  
  
"Hmm?" She sorted through her inbox.  
  
"We can get past all of this." His hand lingered on the doorknob.  
  
Her smile was thin. "I know." Her hands wrapped around the file folders on her desk. She watched as he left, waiting until he had disappeared around the corner before crossing the room. Standing in the spot he had just vacated, she closed the door slowly and leaned against it. Her eyes drifted shut and she exhaled slowly. "I know," she whispered into the empty room, unsure of whom she was trying to convince. 


	4. The Captain's Hook

The bird wheeled lazy circles in the sky above the brick building, making one last search for food before the night arrived. People here weren't as careless with their crumbs as they were in other parts of the city, and the bird knew this, but he searched anyway. On the ground, shadows were emerging from the trees and the building, coating the ground in a false dark. The shadows robbed the ground of its features, smearing crevasses and covering the pockmarks created by the stress of every day living. But the sky was still an opalescent blue and there was enough light for the bird to see his way.  
  
A man and a woman stepped out of the building and stood on the steps. He shifted a briefcase from one hand to the other and reached out to take her elbow. She smiled at him and let him guide her to the parking lot.  
  
"Are you sure you can't make it for dinner tonight?" he asked as he walked her to her car.  
  
She eased her elbow out of his grip and fumbled through her purse for her keys. "Yes," she said, peering into her bag. "I just want to go home and sleep."  
  
He pulled his own keys out of his pocket and pressed the remote's unlock button. The taillights flashed once in the growing dark and disappeared. "You've been sleeping an awful lot recently?" His voice traveled up an incline, giving his words a questioning lilt instead of sounding like an observation.  
  
"Didn't we have this conversation just recently?" She brushed her bangs back from her eyes and looked up from her purse.  
  
He lifted his hands and smiled a little. "Caught," he said. "I worry about you."  
  
Her fingers caught on the ring of her key chain and she pulled it out with a flourish. "Found them." She waved them, listening to the metal jingle in the quiet parking lot. "You don't have to," she said. "Worry about me, I mean."  
  
He shrugged and stared at the trees that ringed the building and said something that sounded like it might have been "fine."  
  
The bird spied a crumb by the woman's car's front tires and swooped down to pick it up before anyone could claim it. From the ground, the man and the woman seemed so much larger and he watched them for a minute to make sure it was safe. He glanced between them as the man turned away from the woman.  
  
She caught his wrist, snagging it on her fingers as he moved past her. "I'm sorry." The words sounded like they were being pulled from her stomach. "I'm in a foul mood." She leaned against her car and settled her briefcase by her feet. Studying the pavement, she spotted the tiny bird and smiled at it as it hopped across the grounds.  
  
The man shrugged again, but stopped walking.  
  
She hitched a shoulder and said quietly, "I'd be lousy company tonight."  
  
"That's what you said the last time."  
  
She paused and fiddled with her keys. "It's still true.  
  
He nodded and leaned next to her. His finger tapped her wrist and he said, "Maybe I'd just like company."  
  
Her eyes widened and she looked up at him. She smiled briefly, letting his words wrap around her and then settle on her shoulders and drift around her feet. She curled her toes in her shoe and stared across the parking lot. But he could see the way her muscles were softening, so he pressed, "Come over, I'll cook."  
  
She ducked her head and shrugged a little, glancing away from him.  
  
He hooked a finger under her chin and angled her face back towards his. "Mac," he said softly, "it's not good for you to spend so much time alone."  
  
She blinked, her eyelids drifting shut and opening slowly. Catching his hand in hers, she stepped back and said, "I'm really tired." She whispered her words apologetically, "Maybe another night."  
  
"Mac."  
  
Shaking her head, she opened her car door and tossed her briefcase in. "It's getting dark." She walked around her car. "I should go."  
  
The car's engine was already turning over and the noise swallowed the rest of her words as she waved good-bye, but he was sure he heard her say, "This is better for you." Confused, he was left with no choice but to get into his car and drive home alone.  
  
Startled by the noise of the cars, the bird flew into the sky. Above the trees, the sky was still a perfect, deep blue. The moon was a pale hook in the corner of the sky. And the first stars were just beginning to appear. They were small silver dots on the horizon, but there was enough light for the bird to find his way home. 


	5. Aboard the Jolly Roger

The shadows curled around the corners of his furniture and slinked along the walls. The kitchen's island, whitewashed in bright light to ward them off, was covered in piles of transcripts and the floor bore the weight of case law and past briefs. She wound her foot around the leg of her stool and tried to ignore the way his arm brushed over hers when he reached for a transcript or passed her a page to review. She tried to ignore the steady clink of his watch on the countertop, the contractions and flexes of his muscles sliding under his skin as he wrote. But she heard each whisper of a movement, felt each touch, and their memories lingered on her skin like a brand.  
  
The coffee pot beeped and it released great gulps of steam as it sputtered to a stop. She glanced up at it, grateful for the distraction, and ran a hand over her hair, scraping it back from her face. "Coffee's done," she said quietly. She pushed back from the counter, her chair legs scraping roughly over the floor. "Want some?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.  
  
He straightened and stretched his muscles. "That's why we made it, right?" He pressed his thumb into his palm and massaged the cramps from his hand.  
  
"Black, right?"  
  
"Yep." He surveyed the lake of paper in front of him and stopped a sigh of disgust from hissing out. "This appeal is such a mess." He nudged the pile of papers by his foot and winced at the avalanche that followed.  
  
She handed him a mug and cupped her own between her palms, letting the steam from the coffee float past her face. She blinked slowly as the vapor drifted across her eyes and she leaned back against the counter. "It was a month long trial," she pointed out. "It was bound to generate some paperwork."  
  
"The other lawyers should have been more considerate and pled."  
  
She snorted softly and the corners of her mouth tilted up. "I don't think they had us in mind when they tried this case."  
  
He shrugged. "No excuse."  
  
She mimicked his shrug and let her eyes wander around his apartment. Her gaze settled on the front door and stayed there, waiting for it open and Mattie to peek in. But the door stayed shut. "It seems quiet tonight."  
  
"It's the rain," he started shuffling through his notes.  
  
"I meant in here," she clarified, still watching the door.  
  
He followed her stare and leaned back in his chair. "Mattie's with her dad tonight." The words were casual and his tone was offhand. It was almost possible to ignore the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.  
  
She sighed a little and let the steam from her coffee take the little breath to the ceiling, where it disappeared into the corners of the room. "You miss her." It was a statement.  
  
He hitched a shoulder and let it drop. "It's what's best for her."  
  
She studied him before saying, "But not what's best for you."  
  
The words crawled across the room and hovered at his back, pulling his muscles tight across his shoulder blades. He fought against the tenseness, shifting until his muscles stretched, and mumbled a "hmm" quietly. "We should get back to work."  
  
"Harm?" she said. She kept her eyes trained on him and didn't move.  
  
"What?"  
  
She took a deep breath and asked, "Are you okay?" She regretted the question as soon as the words pushed past her lips. She hated the way it hung suspended in the air. And she hated the fact that if he said no, she wasn't sure she had anything left to give him.  
  
"I could ask you the same question," he said after a minute.  
  
She lifted a hand from her mug and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "You could." She traced the rim of her mug with a finger. "But we're not talking about me."  
  
He gripped a pencil between his fingers, letting it seesaw on the countertop. He watched the ends bounce with each tap. "We never are, are we?"  
  
She let her breath out in a huff and leaned back until her hips rested on the countertop, putting as much distance between them as the space would allow. "We're always talking about me," she responded. Her coffee was almost gone and the kitchen's lights formed shapes on its surface. A series of ellipses and half circles that led nowhere. "Always."  
  
"And you never say anything."  
  
"There's nothing to say." Her fingers tightened around the cup until her knuckles blanched. She shifted against the counter and wondered, almost absently, how much pressure she would have to exert to have the mug shatter in her hands.  
  
He stood up and started reorganizing the paper piles until carefully ordered dates slipped out of order and hundreds of pages were realigned. Their edges matched perfectly and the piles were neat, but, in the morning, when he would try to work, he wouldn't be able to find the things he needed the most. "The same goes for me," he said.  
  
"Harm," she began, then bit her lip before taking a deep breath and continuing, "Mattie's moving out."  
  
"I'm aware of that," he said softly.  
  
She ignored his tone and pushed a little harder. "That's got to make you feel something."  
  
He sighed and straightened his back, vertebra by vertebra. "What do you want me to say, Mac?"  
  
Rain fell softly on the window, beading and dripping in rivulets. He could hear the wind as it slipped between the buildings and sighed around the corners.  
  
"Something." She gripped her mug. "Anything."  
  
"She's going back to her dad." He shrugged. "It's for the best."  
  
"It is, you know."  
  
"I know," he agreed. "We're going on vacation next month."  
  
"Where?" She recognized the change of subject but didn't want to fight.  
  
"Massachusetts. The Cape. She picked it," he explained.  
  
Mac wrinkled her nose in confusion. "That's an odd choice for a teenager."  
  
"Apparently," he said, "she and her mom used to watch 'Sabrina' together. It was filmed on Martha's Vineyard."  
  
"Oh," she nodded. "I guess it makes sense." She put down the mug and rubbed her hands over her arms. She tugged at the sleeves of her tee shirt and stared at the chair where he had been sitting. She tried to imagine it empty for a week, his office dark, and it reminded her of all the times he wasn't there. Blinking, she looked away as her stomach churned. "I always wanted to go there," she murmured.  
  
He glanced up from the papers he was stacking in boxes. "Do you want to come along?"  
  
"I wasn't fishing for an invitation," she said quickly.  
  
"That wasn't why I invited you."  
  
The rain grew louder on the windows and bounced on the roof. Its dull pounding echoed through the room and its shadows traced patterns on the walls. "I don't think I'd be good company."  
  
He smiled and said, "I'm used to it." Walking around the counter, he tipped her chin up to see her face. "Why don't you come with us?"  
  
"I won't be any fun." She patted his hand and eased away from him, separating her from him with floor tiles and counter space.  
  
"You don't know that," he argued, wondering why he was arguing.  
  
She sighed and rinsed out her cup. Staring out the window, she watched the lights halo around the street lamps. "I don't have the energy for it," she said quietly. She looked up at him and sighed the words out, "There's nothing left in me." She set the cup down carefully on the edge of the sink and stared at the dark street.  
  
He leaned against the counter and watched the material of her shirt slide over her back as she washed the coffee pot. It was odd, he thought, as the shadows shifted on the walls and the rain slid down the windowpanes, they had so much in common. His hand rose and dropped to his side. The water shut off and she turned to face him. Over the lake of papers, they stared at each other.  
  
"I should go," she said quietly. "It's late."  
  
He didn't stop her. It was late. 


	6. Leaving the Nursery

Leaving the Nursery  
  
The early evening sunlight was amber and lay in patches on the floor and counters. These splashes of yellow used to be Mattie's favorite part of summer when she was little, warm spots in the air-conditioning and light spaces in slowly darkening rooms. Her fingers darted over the edges of one patch, forming shadowy animals on its surface as she waited for dinner. Her foot swung like a pendulum against the counter, the slap of her flip-flop echoing the dull thud of her foot. Her hair, still drying from her shower, formed wet patches on her tee shirt and goose bumps on her skin between her shoulder blades.  
  
She watched his back as he cooked, watched the shifting muscles as he moved around the kitchen and stirred something on the stove. The light flirted with the fabric of his shirt and blended into shadows with his movements. Mattie let her eyes drift shut and she angled her head to catch the light on her face. She shook her hair back and listened to the dinner sounds. Steam from a pan condensed on the hood and gathered in droplets on the wall behind it. The vegetables snapped and hissed as he lowered them into hot olive oil and the sound of metal clinking against metal filled the spaces.  
  
Her foot drifted in and out of the shade, alternating between warm and cool air. She let her head rest in her palm and pried her eyes open to survey the table. Sunlight caught on the water glasses and stretched until it formed thin bands of light on their sides. She had picked out the red napkins and white placemats, badgering him until he agreed to buy them. The napkins reminded her of cherries and apples and warm things.  
  
"Well?" His voice rolled over the sounds on the burners.  
  
"Well, what?" She turned her attention back to him.  
  
He glanced over his shoulder as he turned down the heat on the stove. "How was your night with your dad?"  
  
She shrugged and traced the edge of a square of light. It had grown and changed its shape since she had been sitting at the counter. It was oblong and narrow now, its warmth less potent. "It was nice."  
  
He pulled down two dinner plates, thick white ceramic that looked heavy, but wasn't. The lights caught on their surfaces and formed interlocking rings. The muffled sound of ceramic on granite underscored the sounds from the stove. "Why don't you get us some water?" He nodded to the refrigerator and Mattie pushed herself off the stool. "Is that all you're going to tell me?"  
  
She shrugged again and said, "What else do you want to know?" She closed the refrigerator door, bumping it shut with her hip. "There's not that much to tell." Twisting off the bottle caps, she poured water into their glasses. "He's looking for an apartment," she volunteered quietly.  
  
His hand tightened on the spatula and he shifted his stance. Waiting a beat, then letting the beat grow and slide into silence, he breathed deeply before asking, "Where?"  
  
"Around here," she answered. "So I don't have to switch schools again."  
  
He nodded and started transferring food onto the plates. "Makes sense."  
  
"He wants me to go with him this weekend, if that's okay with you?" she asked. Her fingers danced over the back of her chair, slipping around the sides and curling over them.  
  
Harm turned to face her. "Mattie," he said slowly, "he's your father."  
  
She hitched her shoulder and tightened her grip on her chair. Biting her lower lip, she studied her feet, searching her toes for chips in the polish. "Yeah, I know." She pointed a foot and propped its heel against her other ankle. "But you're my guardian right now and that's kind of like a parent, you know? I thought I should check with you first. In case you had plans."  
  
He set their plates on the table. "If it's want you want to do," he started.  
  
She sat down in a huff and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "I don't know what I want to do."  
  
"Maybe you should figure that out." He picked up his fork and gestured to her plate. "Eat."  
  
She stabbed a zucchini and started at it on the end of her fork. "Why can't you tell me what to do?"  
  
"Because it has to be your choice." He gripped his silverware and stared at the fish in front of him, wishing he could tell her what to do. That he could tell her to stay. "It's part of growing up."  
  
"It sucks," she said, her lower lip forming a pout. "Why is this so easy for you?" She tugged her napkin through her fingers and stomped her foot against the floor. "Are you going to be that glad to see me go?"  
  
"Mattie, no." He said the words firmly, covering her hand with his, stilling her movement. "It's not easy and I'm going to miss you." He took a deep breath and added, "More than you'll know."  
  
She sniffled and nodded. "It's just so hard," she said. "I don't want to go but...." She stuttered on the word and looked away.  
  
"But he's your dad."  
  
She nodded again and brushed a hand over her cheeks. "Can I come visit?"  
  
"You didn't have to ask."  
  
She shuddered out a long a breath and pulled her hand free. "Thank you," she said quietly. She paused. "Let's change the subject."  
  
"Let us."  
  
"And tomato."  
  
He smiled and asked, "How was work?"  
  
She grimaced. "Evil." Her expression cleared and she leaned against the table. "Who knew being a camp counselor meant being a human jungle gym? I'm going to be a walking bruise soon." She glanced up at him. "Speaking of ... did you get time off?"  
  
"I did," he confirmed. "And the reservations are all set."  
  
"Yippee!" She clapped her hands, tossing her napkin in the air. Bending down to scoop it off the floor, she said, "I wonder what I should pack." She noticed that he wasn't looking at her. "What?"  
  
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I hope you don't mind."  
  
"What?" she asked again.  
  
"I mentioned our vacation to Mac. She told me she always wanted to go to Martha's Vineyard."  
  
Mattie nodded slowly and pushed a potato around her plate. "Is she coming with us?"  
  
"I invited her, but she said no."  
  
Her fork paused halfway between her lips and table. She lowered an eyebrow. "Why?"  
  
"I don't know." He shrugged. But he meant to say he didn't understand.  
  
Mattie nodded and stared at her dinner. She lifted her fork and watched the light slide down the tines. A deep blue was filling the sky, pushing away the last of the yellow light. A car honked on the street and another car's door slammed shut. She could hear someone shout out a window. Inside the building, the elevator ground to a halt. Its gears creaking in the empty hallway. "That's Jen," she said. "Can I go tell her about the vacation?"  
  
"Go ahead," he nodded. "I'll take care of the dishes tonight." He stacked the plates and tossed the silverware on top.  
  
He was standing at the sink when he heard her run up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, resting her cheek against his spine. He patted her hands, wrapping his fingers around hers. "Thank you," she said into his shirt. She didn't have to add "for everything."  
  
He nodded and she could feel the long slide of muscle over bone beneath her cheek. "You're welcome." Shifting a little so he could hug her, too, he added, "Thank you, too."  
  
Raising herself onto her toes, she kissed his cheek before darting towards the door. "And, Harm?" she said, peeking her head back into his apartment. "Try asking her again. Who knows?" 


	7. Rising Tides

Rising Tides  
  
Empty, empty, empty.  
  
The word rolled around the room and echoed in her mind. It slid along her skin until it rested on her stomach. Empty, empty, empty. And she couldn't stop it from beating its chorus, couldn't stop its refrain from repeating.  
  
The television's shadows flickered on the walls, highlighting her furniture in shades of blue. The volume was turned up, a little louder to fight the silence, and the words eased past her. They circled the room, settling in the corners where they remained unheard. The room was gathering words quickly and they were stacking up on top of each other, waiting for her to notice them.  
  
She curled her fingers around her afghan, threading them through the holes, and looping the fringes around them, over and under until her fingers were knitted in the fabric. She studied her hands and tried not to think about everything that had slipped between them. How the days and people had flowed through them like water and she never held on to them.  
  
She didn't actually believe that she was cursed. She knew, rationally, that she wasn't. That she couldn't be held responsible for everything that had happened and everyone that had gone. But the same nasty voice that reminded her of all that she would never have made her wonder if she didn't deserve it.  
  
It occurred to her in one of those moments, half-fuzzy and half-clear, when she realized all she could have done differently, if only she had known the consequences. Scenes piled on top of each other. Moment after moment where she could have said something else or waited a minute longer. She listed each apology that she could make, took back all of her no's, and stopped herself before she retreated.  
  
But it was all in her imagination and it changed nothing. She was still sitting on her couch, still listening to the television too loudly, while people walked by her building and cars drove around the block. She sighed and leaned back against her couch, letting the talk show banter ebb and flow around her. Her eyelids slid shut slowly and drifted open again, blinking against the glare of the television screen.  
  
This wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't what she had wished for as a child. She knew that some people were happy living alone. That being successful and surrounded by friends was enough. But she wasn't one of them. She wanted to hear someone in the kitchen. Her ears strained for the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing again. For the sounds of feet in the hallway, or soft voices in other rooms.   
  
She knew, now, that she would never be happy alone. She knew that she had settled in her choices. And she knew, now, that it didn't matter. The places that she had wanted filled were still empty. It was hard to admit, harder to accept as true. Empty, empty, empty, the word hissed again.  
  
She traced the colors in the afghan, running her fingers over them from edge to edge. She braced herself against the onslaught of voices. The mean whispers that told her she would never be enough, would never have what she wanted most. After so many years of shouting at them only to have them resurface, she wasn't sure she had the strength to fight them this time around. Clay was gone, her children would never come, and Harm was better off without her. The self-pity was a wave that she couldn't stop and it annoyed her to hear the words whisper out. Empty, empty, empty.   
  
A police car drove past her apartment. Its siren pulsed against the closed windows and seeped between the cracks in the sills. Someone shrieked and a half-laugh followed. Voices shouted to each other. She sighed again and shook her head, trying to clear it. She should probably just go to bed. Close her door against the sounds and hope for something better tomorrow.  
  
Her hand reached for the remote and someone knocked on her door.


	8. Nests and Rescues

Nests and Rescues

His hand hovered above her door. He studied the thick white paint. The brushstrokes were still visible, evidence of too much paint and too little time spent applying it. He wondered if the paint had taken too long to dry. If it had remained tacky and easily damaged longer than it would have if everything had been done properly. He breathed deeply, inhaling slowly and exhaling in a steady stream, and knocked. He knew she was home; he could hear the television through the door.

The door opened slowly, letting out a thin band of cold air and television chatter. She smiled at him and dragged her fingers through her hair, scraping it back into a loose twist. "Harm, hey," she stepped back to let him in, "what are you doing here?"

He grinned. "I was in the neighborhood?" he suggested. The air in her apartment was thin and cold, an adjustment from the humidity that fogged her windows. A crumpled blanket was lying on the couch and the television was still too loud. Shadows, passing cars, changing scenes on the tv, flickered over her walls and furniture. "Cold in here."

She shrugged. "I wanted to use a blanket." She adjusted the thermostat on the wall and folded up the afghan. Leaning against the arm of her sofa, she asked, "Seriously, what brings you by?"

"Hello to you, too."

She rolled her eyes. "I said hey." She smiled a little and seemed to remember all of her manners at once. "Do you want to sit down? Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Yes, to the first. No, to the second." He perched on the edge of her couch and looked up at her. "We need to talk."

"Oh." She slid onto a cushion. "Nothing good ever starts with that phrase. About what?" Her hair slipped out of its twist and brushed over her cheek. "I thought we had everything pretty much covered."

He stared at the floor, studying the patterns in the carpet. "About us," he said in a rush.

"I thought we had everything pretty much covered," she repeated. She tossed her hair behind her shoulder and concentrated on the line where the ceiling and wall met. "Maybe we could do this another night? I'm kind of tired."

"Mac- it's not even ten o'clock."

"It's been a long day," she sighed the words out, but she reached for the remote and turned off the television. The silence that followed the too loud program swamped the room. She sighed again and turned to face him. "What's up?"

"I came by to see if I could persuade you to change your mind about vacation." He wove his fingers together and tightened them until bone pressed against bone. "What do you say?"

Her breath fluttered her bangs. "I really don't think it's..."

"Wait," he interrupted, raising a hand. "Just answer this. Is it because of Clay?"

She shook her head. "No," she said softly, letting the word fall between them. "Not really."

"Okay," he nodded. He glanced around the room and nodded again. "Okay."

"Harm – it's just..." she started again, then stopped. "It's a lot of things."

He took a deep breath and let it slip between his teeth in a hiss. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood up, pacing away from the couch. "The thing is," he said as he walked away. A clock ticked, its staccato rhythm providing cadence for his steps. He listened to the seconds slip by them and sighed in frustration. "The thing is, Mac," he started again. He paced back to her and crouched before her. He covered her hands with his and studied them as she circled his thumb with her fingers. "The thing is, I love you."

Her eyes widened and she stared at him. She opened her mouth, but he continued, "I love you," he repeated, "but I can't keep trying to prove it to you and fall short every time. I don't know what else to do and it's exhausting me."

"But," she said.

"No, wait, let me finish." He tugged on their hands a little and she nodded. "I can't live like this, though. I shouldn't have to." He glanced down at their hands. His soft exhalations fluttered over her skin. "You shouldn't have to either."

"Harm, all I--"

"I'm not done." She raised an eyebrow and he said, "In for a penny... So this is it. This is my last attempt because I can't keep coming back." He leaned back until he rested on his heels and studied her. She was blinking rapidly and he could hear her breathing in short gasps. Her head was angled away from him, tilted so he could only see the curve of her face and the shadow of her eyelashes. His fingers flexed around hers, loosening and fanning over her skin. He knew, because it was impossible not to know, that not everything that had happened between them was her fault. But he also knew this: that time and silence had formed fissures on the surface of their relationship and waiting for them to mend on their own was almost as pointless as wishing for all the missed opportunities back. And he also knew this: that swallowing the words had only increased their pressure, adding more cracks and deepening the ones that already existed.

"Mac," he called her name softly, "can you look at me?"

"No," she shook her head and bit her lip. She tried to pull her hands free, but he held on.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'm sorry for all the things I did wrong. I'm sorry that it took this long to tell you this." She nodded, but still wouldn't look at him. "We're going the second week of August. If you change your mind," he stood up, freeing his hands, "let me know."

She nodded again, and splayed her fingers over her knees. "Okay."

"Alright," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she said softly.

He started to walk away, leaving her on the couch, and her hand reached out to cuff his wrist. "Wait," she said, looking up at him. "Just so you know, all you ever had to do," she paused and blinked. "All you ever had to do was say the words."

"Would you have believed me?"

She let go of his wrist. "I don't know," she said after a minute. "I would have wanted to." She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "It doesn't matter now."

"Why doesn't it?" He hated asking the question. She still hadn't answered him. Not the way he wanted her to and he was trapped in her too cold and too silent apartment waiting for an explanation he didn't want to hear. "Honestly. Is it because of Clay?"

"No," she whispered. She coughed lightly and shook her head. "It's because of me." She breathed the words into her knees, trapping them in the triangle of her body and he almost missed them. "I can't give you what you want," she said. "Hell, I can't give me what I want."

"What is that?"

"A family," she answered. "And I can't give it to you."

He sat down on the couch again and she turned to face him. "This isn't self-pity." She hitched a shoulder. "It's not all self-pity. It's a medical fact. You want a family and you aren't going to get that with me."

"It depends," he said, "on your definition of a family."

She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes again. "It's too much."

"Too much now or too much forever?" He brushed a strand of hair back from her eyes.

"Right now."

He pushed himself off the couch again and she stood, too. "I guess I better get going."

She nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. Biting her lip, she waited until he was at the door before calling, "Harm? Thank you."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" She smiled and he nodded. "Good night." He closed the door on her good-night. In the hallway, he studied her closed door again. There were no fingers prints on it. Nothing had nicked it and ruined the paint. He heard the lock turn and the safety bar slip into place. With a last glance at the too thick paint, he turned and walked away.


	9. Walking the Gangplank

Walking the Gangplank  
  
"Can I come in?" she asked. She had been drifting by his doorway all afternoon, hovering like a swimmer posed over too cold water. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and her toe skimmed the threshold, darting back to the other side.  
  
He looked up from the deposition he'd been reading. "Sure," he waved her in. Without realizing it, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Leaning back in his chair, he wove his fingers together behind his head and hoped he looked calmer than he felt.  
  
She glanced around his office and sucked in a deep gulp of air before entering. She reminded herself that this was Harm. That she knew him. That she had no right to be nervous after their last conversation. She was, after all, the one deciding their fate now. There could be no arguing that she didn't know how he felt. "I wanted-" she stopped and swallowed the rest of the sentence. A clear blue pool lay in front of her. Sunlight rippled on its surface, undulating in the waves. She closed her eyes briefly and got ready to jump. "I wanted-" She stopped again and resisted the urge to stomp her foot.  
  
"You said that already," he teased. His foot tapped against the floor tiles, jiggling his knee against his desk. "What's up, Mac?"  
  
She took a deep breath and jumped. "I wanted to tell you that I can't – I can't tell you what you want to hear." Cold water sluiced over her skin and slid to the floor. She was certain he could feel it, because she could see his knee freeze mid-bounce. "Yet," she amended.  
  
"Unbelievable," he muttered.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly. She shook her head slightly and slid into a chair in front of his desk. "I didn't mean to start this again."  
  
"Then what did you mean to do?" He picked up a pen on his desk and twirled it between his fingers. He kept his gaze fixed on the pen's arc and refused to look at her.  
  
"I meant to-" She broke off and shrugged. "I meant to-" Shaking her head again, she sighed. "I thought I was trying to fix things between us?"  
  
"Exactly how did you think you were going to accomplish that by saying that?" He rubbed a hand over his forehead, smoothing out the skin there.  
  
She bit her lower lip and studied the heel of her shoe. "What kind of person would that make me?" she asked softly.  
  
"What do you mean?" The words were curt and ground out, forced out by the pressure of frustration.  
  
She looked up at him and then turned her face away. "What kind of person would that make if I could get over someone, someone who died, that easily? That quickly?" Her fingers curled around each other and tightened. "Would you really want someone like that?"  
  
"Mac," he drawled her name out in a low sigh. "I..." Then he paused and looked down at his desk, studying the calendar on its surface. Only two months had passed; only two months and it seemed like so much longer and like no time at all. "I told you," he said quietly, "I loved you. What more do you want from me?"  
  
"Time," she said simply, raising her eyes. "And understanding, I guess."  
  
He exhaled sharply. "You always had that."  
  
She nodded and swallowed heavily. "I know that now." Sighing, she added, "I do, you know."  
  
"Okay," he nodded this time. "How much time?"  
  
She shrugged and read the diplomas on his walls. "As much as I need so that I don't feel like a cheap slut when I tell you I love you, too."  
  
The air left his body in a quiet whoosh. Leaving him speechless in the wake of her declaration. "Okay."  
  
She swept her foot along the tiles, tracing their lines square by square. The silence stretched slowly, easing across the floor. It gained presence inch by inch. After a minute stretched to two, she asked quietly, "Is the offer still open?"  
  
"What offer?" he asked absently.  
  
"The vacation?"  
  
"You want to come." He was surprised and a little trickle of happiness seeped into the cold. It diffused, though, when he considered the practicalities. "What about leave?"  
  
"I," the smile was brief and sheepish, "I already got it."  
  
He answered her smile with one of his own. "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you? How'd you know I'd say okay?"  
  
"Please," she waved a hand and smirked, but a tremor along her fingers let him know that she had considered the possibility. She stood up and smoothed her skirt. "What time are we leaving?"  
  
"We have reservations on the first ferry out, so we thought we'd leave the day before. Sixish?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "In the morning?"  
  
"Can't handle it?"  
  
"Oh, no," she reassured him. "I'll be fine." She smiled again and walked to the door. Pausing at the entrance, she turned and winked. "I was worried about you."  
  
He tossed his pen at her. "Get back to work."  
  
Her laugh rippled into his office as she walked down the hallway. His pen lay on the floor. He had missed. But only by inches.  
  
When he was a boy, too young to understand the cold, he loved to jump into the pool without testing the waters. After the initial shock wore off, after his scream had faded, the water always felt so good.


	10. Second Star to the Right

Second Star to the Right

The sun was sinking below the line of trees on the horizon and the sky was turning a pale shade of pink. The harder front of night pushed at the colors and turned the water an unforgiving dark. In the harbor, the waves lapped softly against the boats and against the docks. A small ferry motored into the harbor and its wake made the boats bob in their moorings. Water dripped from the bows and slipped back into the bay in little splashes. A bell on a buoy clanged and, farther away, where the division between night and the setting sun was less clear, another buoy's light blinked rhythmically.

The only motel that they could find, the only one that was close enough and still had vacancies, was in Hyannis, still miles and miles away from the town where they would catch the ferry to the island, but close enough to allow them to stop for the night. Although the adults were tired, Mattie had spied a sign for an evening cruise in the harbor. She had badgered them during dinner. She had batted her eyelashes and pouted over ice cream and pled and begged while they walked until they agreed to go.

Mac pulled the cuffs of her sweater over her palms and anchored them with her fingers. The breeze, colder by the water and colder than she had expected, made her hair flutter over her cheeks and catch in her eyelashes. She pushed at it with her sleeves, unwilling to expose her hands. Beside her, Mattie bounced on her toes, trying to see if the crew had started to let passengers on to the boat. Harm stood behind them, his hands shoved into his jeans' pockets to ward off the cold.

When Mattie's head bobbed up again, Mac gave him a half-smile and blew on her exposed fingers to warm them up. "So, is this the way you pictured it?" she asked under her breath.

"Somehow," he muttered, "I thought it would be warmer."

"Just wait until we get on the water." She smiled and wrapped her arms around her torso. She nodded to Mattie and asked in a louder voice, "Why do you think she isn't cold?"

"Youth," he said. He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Either that or its sheer stubbornness."

"Hey," Mattie cried, "I heard that."

"You were meant to," he told her. "This was your idea."

Mac shivered slightly and tightened her arms around her ribs. He noticed the small shudder and pulled his hands out of his pockets. Wrapping his arms around her, he asked, "Better?" The word was soft and settled lightly on the crown of her head.

"Mm," she murmured and leaned back against him.

"Gross," Mattie grumbled. The line started to shuffle forward and she jumped, clapping her hands. "We're moving." She grabbed Harm's sleeve and pulled him with her. "Let's get seats on the top deck."

"Does she know how cold that'll be?" Mac asked his back as she followed them.

"Apparently not," he said over his shoulder, but he let her pull him on to the boat and up the stairs.

The boat was small, fewer than fifty passengers crowded on to it. They stood at the rail and watched the coast line slip past the boat. Mattie and Mac pointed out houses that they liked and would buy if they ever won the lottery. By the time they pulled away from the coast, they had quite a few potential houses between them. Nearby, a band played oldies and a few newer songs; the music was mostly lost in the engine's humming and the sounds of the passengers.

As time passed and the sky grew too dark to see the scenery, they drifted downstairs and warmed up in the cabin. The wind was growing colder and the sea spray made it too hard to stay outside for long periods. Mac and Harm sat on one of the low benches, slumped against each other while Mattie divided her time between the cabin and the lower deck.

"I'm glad I decided to come," she told him softly. Through the cabin door, she could see Mattie leaning over the railing. Her hair fell in soft curls over her face and made it hard to tell what she was looking at. Mac watched her for a few minutes, before turning her attention back to him.

"So far so good?" he asked.

She looped her arm through his and pulled her body closer to him. "So far, so good." She nodded against his arm.

His fingers slipped around hers and squeezed. He let his head fall back against the wall, wincing slightly at the noise it made on the metal walls. His eyes drifted shut. "God, I'm tired," he breathed.

"Me, too," she agreed. "It's pretty up here," she changed the subject. "I don't know what I expected, but this wasn't it."

He cracked an eye open and glanced down at her. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I never pictured this. Maybe I thought there'd be less trees or something."

He snorted softly and closed his eye again. "But you're not disappointed."

"Oh." She sat up straight and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "No, just surprised. But I like it." She leaned against him again. "I mean, I've definitely liked what I've seen so far." She yawned in the middle of her sentence and let her eyes slide shut. "I want my bed."

He nodded. "Me, too."

"I never asked," she said sleepily, "where are we staying exactly? I mean on the island?"

"The house is outside of Oaks Bluff. We're within walking distance, I was told."

"Sounds nice," she said.

The boat began to slow down, he could feel the speed shifting and hear the engine grinding with the new change. The buoy that marked the no wake zone drifted past the windows.

Mattie came in quickly and rushed over to them. "You must," she stressed the word, "see this." She caught their hands in hers and tugged until they were on their feet. "Come with me," she beckoned.

"What's up, Mattie?" He followed her onto the deck and to the railing.

"Look." She pointed to water. "Just watch, you'll see."

They leaned on the railing and watched the water ripple around the boat. Moonlight caught on the crests and slipped away on the backs of the waves. "There." Mattie pointed again. "And there."

Skimming below the surface of the water, circles of blue lights appeared in the boat's wake. They welled and sank in the water, a flickering paler shade of blue than the water. They lit the waves and glowed in the water and, for a moment, it looked like the sea had swallowed the stars in the sky.

Mac raised herself on to her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly into his shoulder, "for bringing me."

"Thank you," he said just as quietly, "for coming."


	11. Straight Out Till Morning

The sky was turning gray at the edges, a faint sign of lightening, and the stars that had been overhead earlier in the night had slid to the corners of the sky. The day would not arrive in the same rainbow of light that it had left. It was quiet and gray. Soon, the rocks and vines on the beach would gain form and substance against the sand. Across the bay, the first ferry would back up to the docks soon. Its whistle would be low and long in the bright morning sunshine. Boats, day cruisers and fishing boats, would leave the harbor, their engines chuffing quietly in the water, past the buoys and the piers, out past the breakers and into the ocean.

He scraped a hand over his face and grimaced at the feel of rough skin under his palm. He shifted slightly and blinked against the dark, wondering how they had managed to sit outside all night and how he was going to stand again. He glanced at the top of her head. She was leaning heavily on his arm; her mouth was open slightly and her breath was warm and moist on his sleeve. Beneath the blanket covering their legs and arms, her fingers curled around his elbow and her knees shifted over his thighs.

It was Illumination Night. Or, he supposed, it had been Illumination Night. Mattie had discovered it the day before. It had been raining and the scrabble games were losing their appeal. In between a letter change and triple word score, Mattie decided to leave and go to the Flying Horses. She had a slight crush on one of the workers, a fact she denied with a heavy blush and exasperated eye rolls. On one of her spins on the old merry-go-round, he mentioned Illumination Night to her and she mentioned – begged, pleaded – it to them.

It was hard to explain the night. Harder still to explain why it made him happy. The campground, a collection of gingerbread houses, circled around a pavilion. It was dark when they arrived and people swarmed in the narrow streets. The crowd swelled around the pavilion.

Mattie bounced on the balls of her feet and looked around, scanning the grounds for the boy. Her fingers circled Harm's forearm for balance as she rose to her toes to search. Beside him, Mac threaded her fingers through his. She smiled up at him before glancing around at the crowd. Like him, she was unsure of what to expect.

A band in brightly colored jackets sat at the front of the pavilion. He watched them, waiting for them to play. But the musicians continued to sit, waiting for a signal from the conductor.

"What happens next?" she asked quietly, leaning into his arm.

"I don't know," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "I already bought Mattie a glow necklace, so really what else is there?"

She bumped his side with her elbow. "Behave," she chided. "It could be fun."

"Mmhmm," he mumbled. He tightened his grip on her fingers and glanced at the pavilion again. The sky was dark now and the moon was a thin sliver on the horizon. Light caught on a brass instrument and circled around the horn as the musician lifted it. He heard the conductor tap his wand against his stand and the band began to play.

During the day, the houses looked like a child's bedtime story. Fanciful and brightly colored. They spread over a wooded campground, placed like dollhouses around the pavilion and the trees. But, in the dark, when shadows crept closer to the houses and the trees were dark silhouettes against the night sky, and the night painted the houses in more somber shades, the houses' cast eerie shadows on the ground. When the band began to play, the dark houses turned on lights on their porches. Japanese lanterns, painted with flowers and stars, sun bursts and moons, glowed softly on the porches of all the houses.

"Oh," she said softly against his shoulder. "Wow."

"Yeah," he said.

He had kissed her there. In the middle of the Japanese lanterns and the storybook homes. He had kissed her while the crowd ebbed and flowed around them. In the middle of a bath of light.

He found her later that night, wandering on the beach. She skirted the edge of the water and the cuffs of her jeans were rolled above her ankles to avoid the fingers of waves that splashed around her feet. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and he could see strands of hair escaping in the wind. A blanket was draped over his arm and he sat on the deck, waiting for her to wander back in his direction.

"Hi," she greeted him quietly, when high tide pushed her back. "Pretty night tonight." She pulled the cuffs of her sweater around her fingers and lowered herself on to the bench.

"Here," he said, offering her the blanket, "I thought you'd like this."

The shadows washed over his face, bathing his skin in a silvery blue. She wanted to run her thumb along the shadow of his jaw, but her hands remained curled in her sweater sleeves. "Thanks," she said.

A star slipped out of the sky and she closed her eyes to make a wish. Opening them again, she added, "Thank you for asking me to come."

He wanted to tell her he didn't need the thanks. He wanted to tell her that anyone would have done what he did. Instead, he nodded, still unused to the sounds of thanks on her lips. In years past, it had been a given between them. They knew that they were grateful for each other's presence without having to say it. But the years had built a dam of ugly words and hardened feelings, choking off gratitude and niceties, until they were only a thin trickle. "Why did you say it?" he blurted the words out.

"Say what?" she asked. The muscles along her spine tightened and her fingers curled into her palms, the nails carving half circles into her skin.

"Never?" he asked. He gripped the arm of the bench.

"I..." she stumbled over the words, "I don't know." She glanced at the stars and let out a long breath. "I really don't." She shrugged and braced her body for his reaction. "But I know I meant it at the time."

He stretched a let out in front of him. "I know," he echoed quietly.

She shrugged again and pleated the blanket on her lap. The breeze was damp and it curled the ends of her hair. Across the bay, a house was brightly lit and the lights glowed on the water's surface. "If it helps," she said, watching the water ripple under the squares of light, "I don't think it had anything to do with you."

"Surprisingly," he said, "I don't think it does."

"I figured." She glanced at him, leaving the squares of light filled water behind. "Do you ever wonder..." She let the sentence trail away.

"All the time." He nodded.

The breeze stung her eyes and nose and she sniffled, inhaling the salt-filled air. She blinked against the wind and shook her head slightly. "Can we," she sighed, "do you ever think that we'll get it right?"

"I," he paused. "I think we're doing okay now, aren't we?" He hated that he didn't know. That he couldn't tell just by talking to her.

She looked at him. "I thought so." Her shoulders rose under her sweater and fell, the soft yarn waving over her muscles. She pulled a leg to her chest and hooked an arm around it, letting her chin rest against her knee. "Aren't we?"

He circled her wrist with his fingers. "You're the one who keeps leaving now." He hooked his finger around the bones in wrist, caressing the skin that covered them.

"You ran, too," she pointed out, then she sighed. "Maybe it would be better for you if you ran now," she breathed into the blanket.

"Nope."

"I'm no good to anyone at the moment," she told him. She looked into his shadow-covered eyes. "You probably won't have children with me."

"Do the doctors know anything for sure?" he asked, letting his hand drift over her arm. Her skin shivered beneath his fingers.

She shook her head. "I've an appointment when we get back. I may not need a," she swallowed hard against the word, "hysterectomy."

"That's good news, isn't it?" he asked.

"I..." she said. "Yes. I guess. But that doesn't mean I can have children." She whispered the words into the wind, hoping it would carry them away. Out to sea, out over the water and onto the continent. Far, far away from the island.

"We can always adopt."

"But, they still – it wouldn't be the same."

He let go of her wrist and leaned forward. His head fell against his hands and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Would you love the child any less?"

"I – no, of course not."

"Then, why," he asked, "do you think less of me?"

She sniffled against her kneed and nodded. "I'm sorry," she choked the words out.

He moved to pull her closer to him and she let him. "We think too little of each other," she muttered. "I underestimate you," she said, pulling back. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and brushed her fingers over her cheeks. "How do we keep doing this?"

He stared at the bay, watching dark waves roll onto the dark sand. He shrugged and drew the blanket over his lap. A buoy's bell ran in the distance as it bobbed in the waves and he could see its blinking light. "I don't know," he answered, staring at the cloudless sky. It was so dark, without the haze of light pollution, that purple glow that settled in the night skies over cities.

"And yet," she said quietly, "here we are." She raised a hand and let it fall to the bench.

"There must be a reason why."

"Because no one else will have us?" The corner of her mouth tilted up, letting him know she was teasing.

"Maybe because we don't want anyone else," he suggested. The words drifted across the porch and danced through the house on the breeze.

"Do you?" she asked, her breath catching at the back of her throat.

"Do I what?" he asked.

"Want anyone else?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Oh," she smiled and looked out at the sea. "Okay. Good."

He wrapped his hand around her forearm, banding it with his fingers, and tugged a little. Loose with happiness, she leaned against him. "I think," she said, "looking back it on it all, I don't know what we could have changed."

He thought of the fortune cookie, long gone, in that Chinese restaurant. He though of the could have beens that floated in the bubbles of the fish tank. "I think everything worked itself out okay."

Her fingers danced over the sleeve of his sweater, catching in its loops and lightly scratching the skin beneath it. "I love you, you know," she whispered.

His hand tightened on her arm and he smile, a self-assured smile that spread across his face. "I know," he told her. "Ow," he cried as her fingernails pinched the skin near his elbow.

"Sorry."

He took a deep breath. "I love you, too." The words ran together and blended, but she could still hear them distinctly.

"Good."

Sometime, during a conversation about anything but the past or the future, he thought it might have been about wombats or koalas, she fell asleep. Her head grew heavier and her breathing evened out. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and drifted away. The sounds of the waves carried his cares out to sea. When he woke, the sky was growing lighter and the stars were winking in the paler shades of blue. The sun was almost above the horizon when she blinked awake. Kissing him softly on the mouth, she whispered, "Good morning."

"Morning," he answered.

end

A/N: Thank you all so very much for your kind reviews. They meant alot to me. I think that, unless inspiration hits, this may be my swan song. But who knows? We all learned the hard way to never say never. Thanks again. It's been a sincere pleasure writing and hearing from everyone.


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